Project 9
by SocksOffRocksOff
Summary: Rachel has been living a lie since the day she was given away at birth. Stuck in a town she hates, with an absent husband, and her dreams on the back burner; she's thrust into the middle of someone else's war. Will she fight for the normal life she's always dreamed of, or will she fight to finally live? Characters property of Glee but the ideas are all mine. Faberry(Gp!). Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

It was a Saturday morning and the line at Miss Susie's Super Mart couldn't move any slower. Super Mart was stretching it. The little, family owned grocery had maybe ten isles if a customer got creative with their counting and was packed full; too full for the teenage clerk at the only register in the place. It was unusual traffic to say the least. Rachel wanted to strangle the idiot that had put out a wolf call the day before her mother-in-law was set to arrive.

"Rachel, baby are you hearing me?" Finn, her husband, was lovable but agitating in his very own special way.

Rachel side stepped some broken glass, cleanup in isle four. It seemed every idiot with a gun and something to prove was trying to stock up for some impromptu camping. She rolled chestnut eyes before replying, "Yes, Finn, I know your mother is allergic to walnuts."

"Good. Listen Rach, I know you're stressed out but I think mama's warming up to you." Oh God, she thought. What was worse? Carol made it a point to exclude Rachel from any and all conversation if anyone else was around but, if she was particularly unlucky, they would be left alone with only each other for company. And the judgmental tart couldn't stand the sound of silence when her own voice and small minded opinions were so readily available. The last thing she needed was for Finn's mother to actually _want_ to talk to her.

"That's great, hun." She managed half-heartedly. "Are you sure you're going to make it back before tomorrow morning? I don't know how happy Carol will be if it's only me at the door and not her baby boy."

Finn chuckled. Rachel had said baby boy with a little more acid than she had meant to, but he missed it somehow. He always did it when it came to his relationship with his mother. That woman walked on water to him. If she weren't Jewish, Rachel would probably be reading about the adventures of Jesus and Carol every Sunday the way her husband seemed to be doing.

"No big, bad wolf's gonna stop me from coming to see my two favorite ladies." Rachel cringed, not wanting to be a favorite anything where Carol was involved. "You gonna be alright tonight by yourself though? They're saying that wolf that mauled Bill Maynard is probably still in the area."

"I'll be just fine out here tonight like I am every other night, Finn." He worked a lot. It was the main reason she had to give up her big city life for the country boy in the first place. They had met in the Big Apple where they had been attending their respective schools and hit it off immediately. Next thing they knew, Rachel was opening her first show on Broadway and Finn was starting at some big, corporate laboratory that dealt with genetic modification; specifically in crops. He was a farm boy through and through, and not three years later she found herself living in some rural town with the population of a small high school, waiting to start a family while Finn lived his dream. It was becoming a sore point in their marriage.

"I know I've been gone a lot lately but Rach I promise I'll make it up to you." She didn't respond. There was an argument between two oversized men over which type of meat would lure a wolf, Rachel scoffed. These people were really living up to their small town education. Finn continued on, "When I get back, we can start thinking about having a baby like we talked about, okay?"

Rachel wasn't sure she still wanted to have a child with Finn. Sure, five years ago, nobody could tell her anything about the man. To her, he had been the perfect boyfriend and would make an amazing husband and father. Now though, after having given up so much already, she was more than hesitant to take that final step with her absent husband.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah Finn, I'm here." There was so much to say but she didn't know where to start; especially, not over the phone while she navigated the mess that was Miss Susie's. Rachel opted to change the subject completely. "I don't really think one wolf in town should really warrant all this craziness."

Her husband sighed, she knew Finn knew something was up with her but was grateful when he went along anyway. "Maybe not, but this thing nearly tore a man's arm off."

"Sure, that's what Bill says despite the fact that there haven't been wolves in this area since the eighties." Rachel replied cooly. "And you know that man is too proud to admit when he's done something wrong. I think he went on a bender and got himself into some trouble like usual and messed himself up. Remember when he tried to sneak into Ray Mason's place last year?"

Finn laughed. "Ray was so mad when he found out Jenny was cheating on him he put a clean one through Bill's right hand with his hunting rifle."

"That'll teach him to touch my wife again." The little singer added some extra twang to her words, making fun of old man Ray. That had been all the town could talk about for months. It wasn't so far fetched that Bill would make up a wolf attack to cover up something stupid he might've done.

"Well, wolf or no wolf baby, you know how the town gets. I don't want you out late tonight with all the hunting that's going on."

Rachel hadn't planned to be anywhere near men, booze, and guns and she let Finn know just that. Someone was going to get shot and it wasn't going to be her. She almost laughed, the town population was going to be smaller by the end of this; if that was even possible. Finn chatted on about something else and Rachel slowly crept through the checkout line. By the time she made it to the parking lot the sun was already beginning to set and her clueless husband had run out of interesting news about the species of, well, some plant-or-other Rachel really didn't care about, that he was developing.

"Rach I got to get back to work. For some reason this cycle has developed a nocturnal, luminescent mucus."

"Uh huh, glowing slime. Sounds like you've got the beginnings of a terrible horror film. 'Little Crop of Horrors', I always thought a sequel was inevitable with society's new desire to franchise everything." Finn gave a dry laugh. Rachel knew he probably hadn't seen the Little Shop of Horrors, musicals and pop culture references were her thing, but he tried. That's why she had loved him from the start. "Anyway Finn, I'll let you go. I can't wait to see you home before your mother arrives."

He mumbled his agreement half-heartedly, probably already knowing he wouldn't be back before then. Rachel hoped he would try though, the woman really was terrible to her. After the proper 'I love you's' were exchanged, Rachel disconnected the call and began packing away bag after bag. This would be her last night all week to herself, no Carol snark or Finn obliviousness to get her down. The singer planned on taking a long, bubble bath and popping in a personal Barbra Streisand marathon all accompanied by the finest wine this town had in stock.

Climbing up into Finn's old pick-up, her own Lexus GS 350 in the shop, she set out towards home. It was a good drive. The couple had opted to live a little farther out than almost anyone else in town. They were surrounded by the forest, almost like a secret hideaway from the rest of the world. The two-story house was built just for them, land had been cheap and the need for Rachel to have something a bit more modern inspired Finn to help design a sort of dream house for her.

She pulled up outside of the steel and glass double doors to her home. The whole place was an odd juxtaposition, with the almost loft-like feel of the interior and the dense, greenery beyond her windows. The house was as open as possible, it's high ceilings and nearly transparent architecture was interesting at least and Rachel had been grateful at the thought put behind the gift. After all, she could have been in some old brick shanty or, worse, a cabin like the rest of the people in this shoddy town.

Rachel shook the negative thoughts away as she began to unpack the truck. She didn't dislike living here, the singer had even made a few good friends, but she belonged on a stage. She often found herself humming the tunes she had been rehearsing for her second big show, Funny Girl, before Finn had given her the news of his dream job offer. That had been a tough month for them, but they had both decided that they loved each other more than any career, and eventually settled on moving out to the northwest. Funny how she had been the one to give up her dreams.

The tiny singer was halfway through the door, arms full of unnecessary items that Carol was sure to find a reason to hate, when the smell hit her. It was like something had died, managed to resurrect itself, and crawled into the a/c to be pumped throughout the house. Rachel let the bags hit the floor with a thud, and walked swiftly into the next room wondering if maybe she had left something out. Inside the spacious kitchen everything was as it should be. The island was empty and clear of the lunch she had eaten earlier, the dishes were washed and put away, and the fridge was bare but clean; it was the normal setup.

A dull, scraping sound drew her away from the icebox. Fine, dark hair raised away from the soft skin of her neck and Rachel had to bite her bottom lip to keep from calling out. The house was still dark, she always made sure to turn out the lights before heading into town, but umber eyes could see just fine as she took in her surroundings. There wasn't any other noise save for the hum of the fridge and her own shallow breathing; not even the crickets or night birds that usually sang their songs around this time. It was too quiet.

There it was again, off to her left somewhere near the living room. Rachel could hear it now, the wet sound of something dragging across the polished wood of her floor. _Scrape. Thud._ Then again. _Scrape. Thud._ Slow moments passed by as she reasoned with herself what the best thing to do was. Whatever was going on in the other room, she could easily slip back out the door and take off for help. Or, and this was where her logical side wanted to kick her, she could take a quick peek. Maybe an animal had gotten in through the back somehow, and had injured itself. Surely, if someone wanted to murder her while she was unarmed and all alone in the woods, they wouldn't put on a show about it; she'd be dead.

Armed with foolishness and a steak knife, Rachel made her towards the noise. Even in the dark, she could see where the blood began, and she knew it was blood because the trail was thick and smeared sickeningly along the way to the open den; the rotting smell from earlier choking her now. It was shadows on shadows now but Rachel still had no trouble finding the culprit. It was a woman and the sight made her nauseous.

Light hair picked up the little bit of light that slipped in through the windows and was matted down in some places, sticking in others to pale skin. Her clothes were ripped, exposing a thin yet clearly female figure. Above a bare breast, four deep cuts tore flesh away from where it should be revealing the white meat beneath. The various wounds oozed heavy and Rachel found herself slipping in her haste to get to the still clawing figure.

"Stop! Stop moving!" Her heart was pounding. It seemed like this woman was trying to pull herself further into the house from where she had slipped in through the carelessly unlocked deck door. Rachel didn't know if she should be berating herself for forgetting to lock it or to be thankful. Who knows what more would have happened to the poor stranger had she not found her way inside. "You have to stop moving."

Rachel reached out to grab the other woman but a surprisingly fast hand had her wrist gripped tight before she could. The brunette was stunned, how could anyone even be breathing let alone moving after looking like they had just been mauled. The wolf. It had to have been the thing that got Bill. She easily shook free of the blondes weakening grip and reached for the phone in her back pocket. "I'm going to call for help." Rachel said aloud, not sure if she was directing herself or reassuring the dying woman in front of her.

"No." Again, that hand found it's way wrapped around her slender wrist.

Rachel didn't understand. Her heart was beating too fast from the panic that had started to rise and the rushing in her ears grew louder. "The police. I'm calling the police. They'll help you." Her words turned to a frantic rambling.

"No help." The woman's voice was gruff and sure. "Please."

What was even happening? Rachel could feel her own erratic breathing increase as the injured woman's own ragged inhales slowed. Brown eyes peered down at the dirty face before her and that's when she saw it. Green eyes flashed. The moment was almost nonexistent, but it was there. Something lethal, raw, _animal_. Before those verdant eyes slipped shut, Rachel felt the ache of something familiar and completely unwanted.

The woman was unconscious now, and the action was over. Rachel sat ass to ankles, jean clad knees covered in gore and threw her head back in exasperation; drained This was too much. She debated on still calling the police. There was no way this stranger would make it through the night without medical assistance. But then again, if what she thought she recognized in the blonde was what she knew it was, that wouldn't bode well for her later down the line. There was another option, though she hated the idea. Lifting her phone, she dialed the one number that always led to regret and shame. It rang on and on, before finally a groggy voice came through the other end. "Lopez."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing! I appreciate any and all feedback! Enjoy!**

Hours had passed. Rachel remembered one time in particular, after a long night with the bitchy latina, when Santana Lopez had boasted that she could reach the singer within a few short hours on foot if need be. Santana lived on the east coast over half a day away by car. Well, it had been hours _hours_ ago and the smaller brunette was all out of patience.

Deciding it was best not to try and move the blonde woman in case she injure her further, Rachel remained where she had fallen next to the now unconscious body. Her pants were dark, having dried some time ago, and they made a nasty crunching sound anytime she tried to get comfortable. The house was deadly still and Rachel couldn't imagine ever getting used to the smell. She recognised it for what it was now. Death.

The woman's skin had turned an almost pale yellow, and she radiated heat like an open oven. The longer they sat, the less the chance was that either of them was going to bounce back from this. Rachel had never seen such carnage up close; especially, not a dying human body. This was watching a living, breathing being slowly fade into nonexistence and she felt her stomach roll with the finality of the thought. Santana would endlessly tease her about having human sensibilities. Well, Rachel would keep her soft stomach and big heart if it meant never having to deal with nightmares like this ever again.

The wood of the wrap around deck creaked and Rachel felt herself exhale. Finally, she thought. "I called you a little after ten, it's almost three in the morning!" Rachel immediately let the lean woman have it when she stepped through the sliding glass door.

"Wow, thank you so much Santana for coming all the way out here for my ungrateful ass." Santana snarked back.

Rachel huffed. Standing was difficult, her knees had locked up at some point and she almost groaned when they popped. "I'll thank you after you fix this mess." The smaller woman scowled pointing down at the prone form they had been arguing above.

Santana peered down with vaguely curious, dark eyes and ran a hand through her inky waves. The latina woman was beautiful with caramel skin that pulled tight over well defined muscle. Santana was at least a head taller than Rachel herself but shared the same dips and curves; her face was just as gorgeous. Full lips pulled back over incredibly white teeth, a sharp canine catching Rachel's eye. "She's been pumped full of silver." Her delicate nose scrunched up in disgust. "I can almost taste it from here."

"You can smell silver?" Rachel asked, doubtful that the whole silver bullet myth held any real weight. Her father's had given her a sterling silver, Pandora charm bracelet for her thirteenth birthday years ago, and nimble fingers began to twist it around her wrist in wonder.

Santana rolled her eyes. "It's not the way you think it is _perrito_."

"I know." Though she didn't, Rachel hated being so clueless in front of the other woman sometimes. "And I also took five years of spanish, you can stop with the puppy shit."

Irritation seemed to be the common theme with them. Santana sighed heavily before bending over at the waist and grabbing onto the frail body. "Wait, what are you doing?" The blonde's chest opened back up like a storm and rained crimson all over again.

"Well gee, I thought maybe I might take her somewhere clean you know? Like so she doesn't drown in her own blood perhaps." Santana snapped, before tossing the woman over her shoulder with little effort.

"You don't want to put any clothes on first?" Chestnut eyes tracked a single dark drop that was making it's way purposefully from Santana's long neck, between two perfect breasts and across a toned belly before she managed to meet the other brunettes gaze.

The tall woman smirked and Rachel felt herself heat up with both embarrassment and unwanted arousal. It wasn't anything new but she still hated the feeling. "I would if I had any." Another sly look that told Rachel being clothed around her would be a temporary indulgence. "So, any place we can put her?"

The singer nodded, forgetting that Santana hadn't seen her new house yet. The last time they had met up, months ago, it had been another nasty motel room that left her even dirtier than before. "We have two guest rooms." She said simply before motioning to where the staircase was, following behind the bloody trail. She wondered if she would need lemon juice or something to get the stains out of the floorboards.

Santana's back was covered in the dark liquid and she had to resist smearing her hands across the well defined muscles there. It was fascinating, how a woman so well put together could be completely unaffected in a situation so gruesome. In fact, she seemed to almost relish in it with hooded eyes and flaring nostrils. It was inappropriate she knew, but there was something so commanding about how the latina moved about her home with Finn; as if she had always walked this hallway, had designed it instead of her husband.

They came to the second door on the right, the one closest to her bedroom. It was supposed to be a nursery but she and Finn hadn't gotten that far yet, they probably never would at this rate. Santana laid the woman down with little care on the light blue sheets, Rachel having pulled the duvet off first thing. The room had a soft elegance about it, but went unnoticed as they busied themselves removing the ruined rags from pale limbs. When mud covered, ripped slacks came down Rachel almost gasped.

Santana chuckled, running her hands lightly over the body in front of her, checking each rip and tear. "Don't act like that Rachel, it's not like you've never seen a cock before."

"It's just that I haven't seen one so impressive." The embarrassed singer pursed pouty lips, looking pointedly between Santana's own legs. She could tell the comment got the rise she wanted out of the aggravating woman though, honestly, Rachel wouldn't know if it truly was anything bigger than her reluctant friend's own member.

"Shut up, and just go grab some hot water and shit to clean her up with." One Rachel. Santana, well, any point was a good start compared to the landslide the latina was constantly winning with. Now Rachel knew, hit her where it hurts. It felt good to finally bring her down a notch.

In the upstairs bathroom, Rachel let the faucet run until the water turned hot. She couldn't believe this was happening. Rachel had figured out at a young age that she wasn't exactly like her father's, but she had chalked that up to being adopted. She remembered daydreaming about her birth mother. Was she tall or did she lack inches in the height department like she did? Did she like to sing? Did she like to run? Rachel loved running and she was amazing at it, never feeling the fatigue quite the same way her cross country teammates did. Could her egg donor, what she later started referring to the mysterious woman as, hear things no one else seemed to? Or did she like to stay up at night and try to spot all the sneaky night creatures to see what they were up to and where they lived? Then, in New York that first year away from home, she had met Santana in some hole in the wall and she stopped wondering.

She remembered how the air had seemed to shift when Santana had come up next to her at the bar, not paying her any attention. The snarky woman was surrounded by a group of obnoxious people, but seemed to take an interest in Rachel who had been trying to slowly melt into the floor after spilling her drink all over the stunning newcomer. Everyone in the big city seemed to be gorgeous but this stranger took sex appeal to a new level. There was just something about the earthy way she smelled and in the way she held herself, even next to the biggest man in her group she seemed to tower over them all.

But her eyes. They were alive. This woman hadn't spoken a single word yet, but those dark, chocolate eyes gleamed with something playful and dangerous, demanding a response that Rachel didn't know how to give. Not yet anyway. Then, it happened. The latina leaned over in the middle of this little no name bar and put her nose in Rachel's neck, inhaling the girl's scent and loosening something almost primal inside of her. Rachel had been so hot all over she thought she would pass out, and she almost whined when the other woman had pressed her lips firmly to hers it felt so good. She had no idea why but immediately, she wanted all these new feelings to go back to wherever they had crawled out of. That's how a very confused and fuming Santana found herself sprawled out on the filthy floor, Rachel having shoved her forcefully away from her and off of her stool.

It wasn't until Rachel had made it outside that she had heard it, growling. It rumbled from deep inside her own chest and choked her in its intensity. She stumbled into the alleyway behind the old building, her fingers clawing at the hot skin of her throat, feeling the vibrations set her hands trembling. Santana had been a godsend in that moment, storming after her and finding the smaller girl curled up with her head in her hands. Later, after a crap ton of sobbing, the taller girl had told her it wasn't unheard of. Wolves growing up without a pack. In fact, she had stated softly, it happened all too often now and days.

Rachel dropped a couple of old bath cloths into a small bucket and made her way back to the guest room. It wasn't uncommon she thought to herself and, upon returning, found herself wondering if this wolf grew up lost like her.

"Rachel, are you feeling okay?" Santana managed to make sounding concerned seem like a chore.

Rachel passed a rag over and began wiping the sickly skin with all the gentleness she could muster. "I'm fine." She sighed. "What are you going to do? She's barely breathing."

It was true. The woman's breaths were shallow and dragged against the inside of her throat noisily. "There's not much to do. If we were back home, the pack doctors could take a look at her and probably fix this clean and easy."

"You can't help her?" Rachel said, finding herself suddenly saddened in a way that wasn't purely objective. For some reason, a part of her wanted this stranger to be okay and not just to save herself the nightmares.

"It won't be clean or easy." Santana shook her head but finished her ministrations until it was clear to see where every slash and cut began and ended. "I think there are maybe five or six bullet holes. Only a couple of them went clean through, whatever silver is left in her is what's keeping her from healing."

Rachel nodded, starting to understand. "Do you need me to get you something to get the bullets out with?"

"No," Santana whispered, probing a small hole on the woman's thigh with sure fingers. "I'll feel them better like this."

It was a nasty process. Santana slowly, carefully slid two fingers into each wound and dug around all the while pumping new blood up and out of the stranger. Sometimes, she had to stretch her fingers so far apart to get in deeper that muscle would pull away from the ivory bone underneath. Rachel could feel herself getting light headed, and was amazed that the pain didn't wake the blonde. It must be really bad for someone to remain still, even unconscious, through the whole thing. When it was over, Rachel held four whole silver bullets and countless tiny fragments of metal and bone in one hand while the other clutched at her stomach.

"That's most of it." Santana said, sweat beading up on her forehead and slipping down the side of her face and neck. It couldn't have been easy to keep a steady hand Rachel guessed and checked her phone. Nearly an hour had passed since they began and she was glad it was over.

"Will she heal now?" The singer still didn't understand how it worked, this whole being a wolf thing. Sure, she got the faster, stronger, and harrier part but everything else was a still a total mystery.

Santana dipped red fingers into the bucket, swishing them back and forth in the pink water. "No, not like this. She'd do better in furs."

"She won't wake up, I don't get how that's possible." Rachel questioned.

Santana climbed onto the bed next to blonde and looked down into her face. "I can make her. I'll have to call to her wolf, but you might want to leave." She looked over at Rachel, unsure. "It can get pretty fucking uncomfortable."

"I'll stay." Rachel didn't hesitate. Though she didn't get all of this wolf business and she damned sure didn't embrace it, that didn't mean she wasn't still curious. The time it took for Rachel to answer was all Santana needed and now, instead of a very sexy latina, a large wolf with thick, midnight fur was sprawled out staring directly at where the singer sat rigidly surprised.

Rachel had seen this side of Santana a handful of times but it never ceased to amaze her that human flesh could be a wild mass of beautiful black fur with a simple exhale. Even though the tall woman hassled her endlessly about it, Rachel had yet to let herself experience this sort of freedom. That's what she imagined her friend was feeling, a sort of unreachable freedom. The wolf shook her large head and caught Rachel's eye, as if silently seeking the go ahead, before turning her full attention to the woman on the bed.

It started out faint. It was almost as if she was getting tired, the way someone might feel as they begin to drift off right before slipping into sleep. But the weight was different, oppressive almost. There was an angry, scary feeling inside of her chest that sent her heart into a panic, the organ banging against all constraint. She could nearly hear her skin heating up, like a match dragging across sandpaper, ending in a blaze. This was horrible, she wanted out of this body where her insides were screaming and squeezing and her blood was pushing and stabbing at the back of her flesh, all trying to tear a way out.

She hadn't realised she was crying until two firm hands grasped her own, where dripping palms had been cradling her head as she tried to soothe herself. "Hey, _perrito_ it's over now. I warned you." But Santana didn't sound condescending, just tired.

Rachel let out shaky laugh. That was absolutely fucking horrible, she thought. But there was a part of her that was dissapointed almost. It was as if something was right on the surface and was being pushed down, drowning again with each new inhale. She stood, knees wobbly and weak, and looked over to where the two women had been laying. A mass of tangled gray fur replaced sallow flesh. The wolf was skinny and sunken in where healthy muscle should normally be. The bottom of black paws were torn into pink shreds, one ear was clipped on the side, and the fur around her neck was thin almost to the point of showing raw skin underneath the protective coat.

"Even like this, I don't know if her body can do what needs to be done." Santana drew Rachel's attention away from the pitiful form, and the tiny woman followed her friend out of the room. "She looks sad as fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if blondy just gives up and dies."

Rachel didn't like how easy it was for Santana to shrug off any further hope, but she knew the gruff brunette didn't have any personal attachments; hell, she wasn't sure she did either. But the careless way she spoke the words rubbed Rachel the wrong way. Did all wolves grow up with this nonchalant attitude towards something so foreboding and final as death? It didn't take long for her ire to raise. "You can be a such a bitch. She's clearly been through fuck knows what and you can't even have the common decency to try and find some compassion."

"Compassion? You don't understand how the world works Rachel. She's not of my blood which means, out there, she could have been just like any other bold ass idiot wanting to test the boundaries." Santana's shoulders hunched as she stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing blood off of her warm skin.

Rachel scoffed. "I'm not in your stupid pack and you seem just fine with me."

"Well yeah, you're an easy fuck when you know how to shut your big mouth." The insult scraped across her skin like glass, cutting into her emotions and making them well up. Why did Santana have to be so horrible all the time? She knew she was ignorant to all of this but that didn't give the latin beauty a right to talk to her like a child.

"Why did you even come? You clearly don't possess the ability to care about anyone other than your fucking self!" Rachel could feel it, the tension that always seemed to arise when dealing with the fuming woman in front of her. They could work maybe, if ego and pride could take a backseat, but that would never happen. The singer knew it was in their nature, that part she understood loud and clear. She felt the need to press against Santana's dominant sneer. Press up against her taut body and push her back, push her down and feel the angry woman break beneath her own strong will.

Santana stalked slowly towards where Rachel was standing in front of an old oak table, Carol's idea of a gift, and a low rumble broke out in the closing space between them. "You think you know everything, always talking, always fucking whining." Rachel opened her mouth to argue back but Santana was on her now. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and one of them was clearly overdressed. "Shut up."

Rachel found her ass planted firmly on the table and instinctively wrapped slender legs around the aggressive woman's naked waist. Before she could protest, demanding lips pressed hard against her own. They both snarled into the feeling of probing tongues and sharp teeth, catching each other viciously and drawing small drops of scarlet. This was the type of hot that Rachel both loathed and craved.

Finn would never grab at her the way Santana had no problem doing. The woman scratched her way across the soft, milky flesh of her stomach before tearing the thin grey v-neck right off of her, never breaking the intensity. Rachel could feel the latin beauty harden against her thigh, pressing herself firmly against the rough denim of the singers jeans. She groaned low in her throat and broke the kiss. Santana never stopped; she didn't ask permission the way her husband always seemed to, like a child seeking a reward. The fiery woman took exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted was Rachel, naked and underneath her.

Where her blood crusted pants and slick thong went she didn't care, at the moment, Santana's long fingers had found their way under the black lace of her bra and she was currently nibbling dangerously along her slick neck. Rachel growled a warning, knowing exactly what it meant to allow herself to get marked, bitten like a bitch. She tangled her own deft fingers in long, dark hair and yanked the greedy mouth mercilessly away, exposing the other woman's neck to her. It didn't last long.

Rachel nearly screamed when Santana slid all of her length between her legs, and she felt herself gush hot and wet all over the other woman. The pit of her stomach was alight with delicious heat that rose up into her chest and cute toes curled as she felt all of Santana slide roughly against her pulsating walls. She didn't know what would give first, her or the hideous table that creaked every time the latina slammed up inside of her. There wasn't any deeper she could get, but Rachel felt the desperate way strong hands grasped her hip while pulling her to meet each unforgiving stroke.

Thick eyebrows were knit together in concentration, forehead dripping sweat, the salt of it stinging the fresh cut on Rachel's full upper lip. The tiny singer wanted to put those burning lips against Santana's grimacing mouth but couldn't seem to focus her eyes enough for that kind of precision. Instead she cupped a slender hand tightly around a quivering throat, pushing the glistening tan body away from her own just enough to watch Santana's girth open her up before pushing inside again.

Finn didn't have enough under the belt to push the type of throaty cries from her throat the way her friend did. His body was too big and awkward to grind against her with exquisite rhythm, no abdominals to rub her clit and send her into a frenzy; he wasn't smooth under her touch and tight where it counted. Everything was different these days and Rachel wished she could unlearn what it felt like to have someone take so passionately and give in equal measure. They weren't perfect, they would never be good for eachother outside of fucking and friendship but even this kind of raw, unguarded fervor made her ache for something she couldn't name.

Was this what it felt like to be a wolf? She always wondered that when Santana was close to pushing her over that nearly painful edge. Rachel wanted it, wanted to wrap herself up in this feeling and live in this world where kisses and skin on skin was heat and electricity and left nothing to be desired. In this moment, even if only just physically, she was whole. And, when those strong hips grinded down into her again and again and again, without pause, how could she not tumble over?

Rachel let out a keening noise so high she was sure that if they had a human audience they would still be the only two able to hear the mess that Santana had managed to turn her into. She pushed lazily against that firm belly, knowing the other woman was close, and felt her face heat up at how much she enjoyed feeling that hot seed spill out all over her thighs and between her legs. Soft panting was all that could be heard now, both women resting damp foreheads together, noses brushing almost intimately.

Santana lifted her head and looked directly into Rachel's eyes. Her irises were so luminescent, a brown that shone too brightly in the dark to be human that the singer couldn't look away. The tall brunette had told her once that she was one to talk about eyes, it was unnatural how her own hazel orbs reflected light so effortlessly. The tan woman's voice was scratchy and rough as she broke the silence. "I hate pulling out."

Rachel rolled blown pupils, propping herself up on her elbows as she watched her counterpart look around for something to wipe herself off with. "Wow, always the romantic."

"Is that what you're looking for? Romance?" That wonderful, wide mouth grinned lazily over a shoulder, amusement written on her face.

Rachel had quickly discovered, to her delight, that her temperamental companion was much more relaxed after sex. So relaxed, that she could almost be mistaken for a whole other person. They both chuckled, it was no secret that what they were doing was completely surface. There weren't any deep, lingering emotions that hung around to pester their hearts and twists their guts. Fucking was fucking and they both liked it that way.

Santana pulled a chair out and dropped into it gracelessly while Rachel opted to remain perched on the table that now sported a long, hideous crack from the middle to the very end where she knew Finn would sit at as head of the household. It was almost funny if it didn't make her feel like such a horrible wife. Rachel wondered what she would do tomorrow when both her husband and his mother sat down to eat dinner.

"Rachel." Santana called, softly drawing her from that train of thought. "I don't know what you're going to do with the blonde chick upstairs but I have to leave soon."

"I thought maybe you could take her with you." Rachel had honestly never thought that it would be a question of where the responsibility would fall.

Perfect mounds rose with the long breath Santana exhaled. "I can't. I shouldn't even be here."

"Oh, daddy doesn't know you're away from home." Rachel mocked before catching herself. She could see how Santana's lip began to curl. "I'm sorry", she quickly atoned, "I don't know much about that. It was uncalled for."

Santana waved her off, just barely annoyed. "No you don't, but I've been a horrible friend."

"We're friends?" Rachel teased. It was a rare day when the usually standoffish woman admitted something as weak as caring for another person.

"Don't let it go to your head." She husked. "I came because I didn't like the idea of you being put in any sort of danger." Rachel could tell admitting to this wasn't something Santana wanted to do, but she soldiered on. "You haven't had a pack to teach you how vicious our kind can be. It's an old way, but it has always worked. Care for your own, your blood and your line; anyone or anything else could lay to waste if it threatens the bond of family."

"It must be nice." Rachel hummed. "Family."

Deep, hershey eyes regarded the small woman softly. "The truth is family isn't always pack, and pack isn't always something you choose." There was anguish behind the words and the sadness that seeped into the air around them was too real to ignore. "I have to be home because there have been bodies showing up around our territory lately. Grown men and teenagers mostly but, a few days ago, this one boy went missing. Sweet kid, he liked to ride up on my shoulders. He's like not even eight or whatever."

Rachel slipped her hand over the fist that was clenched on top of the table. Silently urging her to go on. "His mother wouldn't shut up about it. 'Mi hijo no se escaparía!' 'He would never do something like that!' On and on man, and I was thinking the whole time, wolf pups; they love to play. We're curious by nature, I'm sure every adult in the pack could remember what it felt like to wander off on an adventure in furs. We all did it. So, papa told me to find him myself."

Rachel could feel what was coming next and had to fight to keep from tearing up. She didn't even know this boy, but she knew where this was going and it made her heart sag painfully low. "So I found him. Like the others, it hadn't been more than a week. He was laying in a fucking sewer tunnel like garbage!" She slammed that fist down hard enough to widen the new crack. "And I had been standing there like a fool, thinking he was out playing some stupid game. I didn't take it seriously enough and now we got bodies all over the place and people demanding answers. I got shit to show but a dead kid."

Santana wasn't the type to cry and she didn't break down sobbing now, but her shoulders shook and her throat worked hard. "I got shit to show, Rachel and everyone looking to me. I didn't ask for any of this."

Suddenly, the singer felt guilty for wanting to push this problem off on the other woman. For years now, she had been turning to the dominant brunette for every little bump in the road. Expecting a quick fuck when Finn left her empty and alone, demanding to know how to navigate this new truth about herself, lashing out when she couldn't figure her own self out; Santana was a bitch sure, but she had also been a constant friend. Rachel had been slacking.

"I shouldn't have called you, or assumed you could just drop everything for a stranger." She practically whispered.

"I didn't drop anything for a stranger, I came here for my best friend." Santana straightened up again and her eyes glistened with sincerity. "If I got to pick my pack, like choosing sides for kickball or some shit, I wouldn't pick you last."

"Aww, that's kind of sweet." Rachel gave a watery laugh, grateful for the break. "What am I going to do?" Her eyes were glued to the ceiling, seeing the grey wolf and worrying her sore lip.

"I don't want to leave you but, you know." Santana shrugged. "She shouldn't wake up anytime soon. I could probably be back to deal with her by next week."

Rachel looked forward to that. She had finally gotten to see a part of who Santana really was, beyond the attitude and bravado. "You sure you can't stay another day?"

"And be stuck here with Finnept's bitch of a mother? Nice try, estrella."

Rachel knocked their foreheads together. "Hey, someone really hot told me once, 'Bitches like bitches.'" They giggled; and Santana didn't giggle. The singer thought maybe she could get used to this. Or maybe she should get laid more often. Either way, it all felt less, well _less_. "But seriously, how do I explain _that_ upstairs?"

"Bitches like bitches." Santana smirked.


End file.
